


Marry The Night

by stonecoldsteverogers (youdickbag), youdickbag



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdickbag/pseuds/stonecoldsteverogers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdickbag/pseuds/youdickbag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester has finally had enough. He's gonna burn a hole in the road and marry the night.</p><p>Another one of those what-happened-the-night-Sam-left-for-Stanford fics. Except I'm pretty sure Sam and Dean's last night together wasn't quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry The Night

**Author's Note:**

> The origins of this fic are actually pretty convoluted. I was talking to my friend [Jason](http://crackinthecloud.tumblr.com) about Harry Potter's chest monster (you remember the chest monster, I'm sure), and I called it "The Feels Monster."
> 
> That led to parodies of The Fame Monster (as it should), and then Jason quoted Marry the Night and I immediately thought of Sam. Hopefully you'll see why as you read the fic, although my application of the lyrics probably wouldn't accurately reflect what really happened. ;P
> 
> Anyway, fandoms collided, and now here we are.

_I'm gonna marry the night_  
 _I won't give up on my life_

"You read the letter, Dad, you know how amazing an opportunity this is," Sam repeated the words yet again, packing the last of his things and knowing that just like every other time he'd said it, John would ignore him, because that was how John operated. Get your way all the time, ignore what you don't want to deal with; out of sight, out of mind. Sam would be more than willing to adhere to that philosophy if his dad would just fucking _listen._

At least they'd stopped yelling at each other.

"I know that you'd be going hundreds of miles away to chase some dream that you and I both know will never come true," John stated firmly. Sam shook his head. "You can't leave this behind, Sam, not knowing what's out there. It'll draw you back, it always does."

"I _can_ leave this behind, Dad," Sam replied. "I can, and I will. I'm leaving behind moving around all the time, never being able to just be myself, never being able to talk to anyone other than you and Dean, not even being able to go to my high school graduation...never belonging anywhere."

"Sammy." That was Dean's voice, and this suddenly got a lot harder. Dean was...Dean was different. "You do belong somewhere, you know that. You belong with...with us. Your family." Sam had heard and noted the pause for what it was; they still had to be brothers first. Sam just wished he knew whether or not they would just be stuck like that, or whether or not he'd ever be able to have a relationship other than one built on blood, be it shared or spilt. He had to know if he could be worth that. 

"Dean, I want to belong somewhere that doesn't mean I have to be known as 'the freak' to everyone around me," he replied bluntly; it was the easiest answer. "Or if I _have_ to be a freak, I want to be a freak about something that won't make people hate me. I'm tired of being alone."

_I'm a soldier to my own emptiness_  
 _I am a winner_  
 _I'm gonna marry the night_

Dean's stance and expression said little, but his eyes spoke volumes. Sam could already tell what they'd say, since what was written between them was nothing new. Not any more.

"Enough, Sam," John's voice was authoritative, and it made Sam's hackles rise because he did that on purpose, he _had_ to be doing that intentionally to piss Sam off. "You're not going to Stanford."

"Like Hell I'm not!" he shot back, losing patience. He just wanted to leave. "I'm going, and you can't stop me." He looked John in the eye, daring him to try; Sam had taken well to training, and they both knew it. In a fight, they'd be evenly matched at best until Sam's youthful ambition overtook John's grizzly determination. "Just because you threw your life away doesn't mean I'm gonna do the same."

"I did _not_ throw my life away!" John's fist hit the wall so hard Sam wasn't sure if the crack he heard was from the wall or his father's knuckles. "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back," John said, panting, voice heavy with the ultimatum. Sam wished on some level the decision was harder to make; he hated that he could make his choice so easily and hurt Dean in the process.

_I'm gonna lace up my boots_  
 _Throw on some leather and cruise_

He straightened, grabbing the leather jacket Dean had gotten for him and then made him wear until it had formed to the shape of his back and shoulders. It was worn around the shoulder blades from how often Sam wore it while leaning against walls or stretching it as he grew into his large frame, and despite its probable origins in a Goodwill or Village Outlet it still smelled deeply of leather and the aftershave that Dean insisted Sam use instead of whatever "girly" stuff Sam might try to buy from the store. 

"Sam," Dean whispered. Sam didn't look at him; he couldn't. He'd made his decision, and he was going to see it through. He had the right. 

The sound of the door closing behind him had a finality to it that made Sam want to shudder. 

_Then I'll go down to the bar_  
 _But I won't cry any more_

_I'm gonna marry the night_  
 _I'm not gonna cry any more_  
 _I'm gonna marry the night_  
 _Leave nothing on these streets to explore_

Choice made, Sam hitched his pack, grabbed his suitcases, and started walking. There was nothing else to do. He walked, listened to the crickets and the crunch of his boots on gravel and pavement, smelled the night air, tinged with smoke, laced with exhaust from passing cars, and sighed.

He was free. He had some cash, but he could probably hustle some more before he headed for the bus station. It was quite a way to California. 

He'd found a low-end bar and was currently working on scoping out the pool scene when the door opened and a slight hush went through the place. Turning, Sam wasn't sure what he felt as he saw Dean standing there, scanning the room, already having found Sam but wanting to ascertain possible venues of escape, fighting venues and implements, and even counting the number of people. It was a forcibly learned instinct. 

_Nothing's too cool to take me from you_  
 _New York is not just a town that you never knew_

"I'm surprised Dad let you come after me," Sam muttered as Dean sauntered over, winking at one of the waitresses and charming the drink right off her tray that most definitely had not been originally intended for Dean. 

Downing most of it in a few gulps, Dean set the drink down on the bar before letting out a belch and scratching his stomach. Sam let Dean rest his arm on one shoulder and play with the hairs at the base of his neck. "The way I see it, coming after you is keeping you safe," Dean replied with a shrug. "Can't see why Dad would have a problem with that."

Sam could infer a number of things from that statement. Dean had come after Sam because he'd wanted to, which meant there was a good chance their dad hadn't tried to use Dean to drag Sam back. It also meant that Sam wouldn't have to leave Dean just yet, which was good; there were still things they both needed to say. Sam hoped, even as he knew it wouldn't happen, that this was a sign that Dean was finally ready to try and make something of what they were becoming. 

But Dean was helping him hustle money, and wasn't chatting lightly with him, and was touching him too much for this to be a permanent arrangement. That was how it would have to be; Sam guessed that this was too screwed up, even for them. It didn't explain the heated looks Dean gave him, or the suggestive touching, but it didn't have to; after tonight, Sam and Dean would be brothers first, foremost, finally, forever. 

_Love is the new denim or black_  
 _Won't poke holes in the seats with my heels_  
 _'Cause that's where we make love_

But that was after tonight. Tonight, Sam had the money he needed, he had Dean warm, ready, and willing, and Dean had a credit card that would give Sam another motel room for a night. A kiss made smoky by the hazy bar, a tentative swipe of the tongue over Sam's neck, and they were gone. 

The motel they chose was not unlike the one Dean would go back to after the night was done. They didn't even bother to turn the lights on; they didn't need to see what they were doing, didn't need to make this any more real. Because if it was real, then Sam couldn't run away from it. 

He knew on some level as their clothes hit the floor that Dean probably saw what Sam was doing as running away, and he wasn't really sure himself. "Dean," he whispered, and Dean's response was low like the Impala's engine and rough like the whiskey Sam could still taste at the corners of his mouth. 

He lost himself then in the slip-slide of skin and muscle, moving together into each other until there were no spaces left between them. It didn't matter what tomorrow brought; in this moment, in this bed, they were eternal.

Dean took Sam into his mouth, and Sam saw in his eyes everything they could be, everything they should be. Everything they couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't be. He felt himself come apart, and for one bright, burning moment, his regret pierced him in a way that should have left him gasping and promising that he'd never leave Dean. How could he?

_Come on and run_

"Come with me," he murmured into the skin of Dean's back as he pressed himself up against the broad, glistening expanse. Reaching around, he began to tease and press and stroke, sending his big brother tumbling toward the only place where he actually felt reachable, like a human, like a human that belonged only to Sam, only with Sam. Dean arched into him, and Sam entreated him. "We could do it, just the two of us."

"Sam, Sam, Sam," Dean was calling out Sam's name, lost to the world outside Sam's hands and body. "Sammy..."

"Come on, Dean." Sam bit down then, on the meat of Dean's nape, and trailed his fingers down over the sac of Dean's balls, tightening his grip and tugging harder. 

Dean gasped, jerked, moaned, panted, thrust once, twice, cried out, and then he was spilling over Sam's fist, making tiny sobbing sounds as Sam milked him of everything he had. His head turned and his mouth caught Sam's, and they shared air as Sam rubbed the mess Dean had made into his thighs and lower stomach.

They descended slowly, still touching at every possible place, landing on the bed and burrowing into each other like it was the last thing they'd ever do. Maybe it was, but they were eternal. They kissed, and they were always. 

_Turn the car on and run_  
 _I'm gonna burn a hole in the road_  
 _I'm gonna marry the night_  
 _Leave nothing on these streets to explore_

The day had come, eternity already stretching away into memory and failed wishes and broken eye contact. Claps on the back, gruff advice, Sam standing back and watching the Impala drive away from the bus station.

Breathing in, turning, breathing out, walking.

Buying the ticket, boarding the bus, settling in to watch "Sammy" become Sam, going to Stanford, making his choice, setting himself free. 

_I'm gonna marry the night_

Green eyes watched the bus take away his whole world, burned a black hole in the road that he wished would bring his brother back. What's done is done, no use crying over spilled milk.

He watched, he wished, he waited, and he hated. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed this. It's short, but it says what I want it to. It's rare any more that what a fic wants and what I want work out so well. #writerproblems


End file.
